This is the Kuchiki Clan
by katerinapunk
Summary: Byakuren Kuchiki is the 25th Head of the Kuchiki. It is before the time of order and the Clan Heads are competing for power. Kuchiki badassery. on Hiatus until finished with "Nirvana"


**Byakuren, 25th Head of the Kuchiki.**

_Year 983_

Byakuren dwindled in the blood-sopped ash. Rain nailed down on him as he waited, knee-deep. After all, it always started with rain.

For what he was waiting for, he did not know. Black hair draped over his shoulders, muddy and wet. Slate eyes wandered indifferently across the aftermath, surveying the landscape in a regal manner. It was horrible, yes, but no longer a rare sight.

Corpses lay asunder, either burned or slaughtered. The smell of acrid Death loitered in the air, followed by fleas and flies; ready to lay eggs in the rotting flesh. The storm overhead boiled with lightning and thunder - a dark cloud of impending doom. Fire was everywhere. Just everywhere, dotting the blackened earth with flames slowly dying out.

Calls for help came here and there in the distance as Byakuren's friend's were cut down like insects, unseen in the fog. There would come a scream, shortly followed by a choke, and then a ghastly silence. One by one, the survivors were being wiped away. It reminded him of the way prey were stalked by wolves.

Several times he recognized a voice. Chills swept down his spine in a flurry of fear, disrupting his calm. Convincing himself that it was nothing more than the cold, he stood. But no matter how much he strained himself to stop, his hands could not stop quivering. And no matter how much he wanted to run for his life, his legs would not budge from the mud.

Byakuren was unable to see the demise of his colleagues, thanks to the mist and rain. For that he was grateful. Yet he realized that very soon they would come for him.

Since his last skirmish, Death had changed. Rather than attempting to snatch him away with swords and blades, Death had presented itself in an inferno. An entire battalion had burned to a crisp before his very eyes. The battle had never even begun before half of his friends and family were dead. The horrific screaming he could hear now was simply the enemy cleaning up the last of his allies. Rats eating up the last crumbs, scattered across the table.

Despite all of it, Byakuren was not afraid of his own end. He was afraid for the others.

_ Shllk... Shkk... Shllkk..._

His ears caught a hushed sound. Little by little, Byakuren turned his head, his grey eyes wavering. In the midst of the storm, stood the figure of a uniformed soldier. With knife at hand, the figure kneeled at the side of what appeared to be a vaguely human-shaped lump of flesh. Byakuren's eyes squinted, flitting across the soldier's uniform. His pupils settled on the insignia-a flower facing the eastern sun.

Like that of a startled cat, his body froze.

The soldier rose from the body in a smooth motion before Byakuren could think of what to do next. For several moments, all he could hear was his own heartbeat; a steadily growing _thumpity-thump, thumpity-thump_ in his throat. Even the rain had been tuned out from his ears.

Faster than he could think - the soldier turned, and sprinted in his direction. Byakuren's zanpakuto seemed to shudder as he raised it from the ground, poising it at the other man. It was a pointless struggle; but there was a tinge of hope in his heart, and some reiatsu left in him to boot.

"Scum!" The soldier hissed, ripping yet another blade from his sheath. Byakuren winced at the noise, praying that the other enemies would fail to hear their fellow trooper. The solider emerged from the mist, his features sharpening to Byakuren's eyes. He appeared to be a young man, fair-skinned and dark-haired.

He hastened across the charred muck, sprinting for Byakuren.

Byakuren had often dreamed what his death would be like. The past few days had fathomed him that it was not unlikely for his last moments to be spent here.

Calmly, he spun to the side, foreseeing the lash of his assailant. The other blade, he noticed, was crude and without a proper hilt. With reflex, he parried a strike with an excellent brandish. His muscles seemed to burst without warning. They screamed from the tire of running while his throat bled from the smoke of fire. He swallowed hard, a bead of cold sweat refusing to roll down his back.

Determined, he willed himself forward, stumbling at his enemy. It was a clumsy step, but he was all too tired to be graceful. He shifted his weight forward, meeting the assailant's sword on hard. At once, they drew their foil edges against each other. The blades shrieked as metal and metal collided, friction sweeping in between them.

His zanpakuto, _Kagechiko_, screamed, her blood-thirsty cries spreading through him in a rush of fury. And then, suddenly, Byakuren felt angry. How dare this 'soldier' invade his land? How dare he step foot into the Kuchiki territory? How dare he harm those who Byakuren cherished with all his heart?

Adrenaline coursed through him, and his fingers ran cold and stiff against his hilt; his body trembling with a fearsome vexation.

The war had been lost - but not his tenacity. Not his anger. He vowed that as long as he was alive and breathing, the fight would never end. Through the pounding rain, Byakuren watched with a twitch of his lip as the man's eyes widened in discernment of what Byakuren was about to do.

With the last of his strength, Byakuren forced his blade down the shaft of his opponent's. The sharpness met the hilt of his enemy's brass helve, and split the burnish wide, slicing the assailant's hand in two. There was a small cry of shock.

"Take you and your damned western _shinigami_ to the grave." Byakuren said coldly, flourishing his zanpakuto. Being a man of potency, Byakuren wasted no time in removing his assailant's head. Blood spilled forth into the murk. It rolled into a soiled pool, dying it ever more crimson. When it had settled, the head faced the sky- looking up with only the whites of its' eyes.

The body fell with a light _thump_.

By now, the noises had died off, carrying away into the misty void. Byakuren noted the stillness in the air with a slight simper and sheathed his sword.

There was a shot of pain in his thigh. It swept through his body, the numbing sensations from earlier slipping away from him. He blanched, bringing his gaze down to his legs. A large gash had been inflicted; gore pouring down his leg like a fountain.

_ He hadn't even noticed._

At once, he set to work on it, tearing part of his own uniform off to dress it. The 25th head of the Kuchiki Clan, Byakuren Kuchiki, would not die here. With fists clenched and wounds temporarily swathed, Byakuren began his trek to the north. Deep inside, Byakuren realized that he had just witnessed the fall of the resistance. Victory was his to keep.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a woman.

He blinked. This time, the light in his eyes...

Disappeared.

His carcass stood for another, last, precious second. And then - collapsed into the mud, cold and lifeless as ever.


End file.
